BAD INFLUENCES, we are on each other
by The Carrot
Summary: If there are words to describe this, please, for the love of everything, let me know. 'The team's habits rub off on each other.' Teamfic!


BAD INFLUANCES, we are on each other

Disclaimer: I claims it as mine, kk. No others… cept the people on FF and Lj, they can has some too yes? Lawls, lies.

So I wrote the frist few, (late at night kays) and the epically awesome Tinkerpanda did the last one with Wordy. Love you for it sweetheart!

…~…

Ed was a beer man. No one would state otherwise, mostly because it was true. Barbeques, celebrations, retirements, all were fair game to crack open a long neck and let the cool hop flavoured liquor pass down his throat. So he found it a little odd when he came back from work one night and settled down on the couch with a tall glass of red wine. He froze in the middle of picking up the TV remote to look up to the doorway where Sophie was standing, arms crossed and her hip jutted out to the side in pure amusement. Blue eyes traveled back to the wine glass and Ed frowned... deeply. "Hmm..." was the only thing he could say as his wife came over to sit on the arm of the couch and place a kiss to the top of his head with a fond chuckle. He also didn't say anything as she leaned forward to take a sip of her favourite red wine her husband had poured himself.

XxX

Sam stood in the middle of the music store, brows drawn together as he stared the three different CDs in his hands. He had only come in for one... which was, when he thought about it, the bases of this problem. He didn't buy CDs. As a general rule. He had, once upon a time, when he was younger collected the discs of his favourite musicians, but after a few times of having to put them into boxes to move them, he had quickly transferred them onto a computer when he was old enough and gotten rid of all the plastic cases he could. Less to take him with when they moved again. So as a rule, Sam refrained from buying CDs, choosing instead to download them. Ed had found out, thrown a fit, who knew that the bald leader was so dead set on supporting artists that he would delete LimeWire and all its music files from Sam's computer. This incidentally, led him to his current predicament. He couldn't decide which CD he wanted to add to his now vastly growing collection on his bookcase. Shoving the three cases into one hand he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and pulled up Ed's number, firing off a quick text that consisted of 'Ihateyou'. Moments later Ed's only reply was '?'

XxX

Greg decided, one day after an excruciatingly long shift, that no, he really didn't like the carpet in his living room. So he popped a top to a can of soda and found himself calling the local flooring company. A day later the hideous beige carpet was gone, thrown to the curb side for the dump truck and two men were 'expertly' installing wooden pieces into his floor... he mentally questioned their expertise as he found himself second guessing the work the two men were doing, stating clearly that, 'no that piece goes in like that', and 'shouldn't those nails be longer'. It had actually gotten to a point, two hours after the men had started that the skinny one, apparently the less patient of the pair, turned to him and told him to either go away and stop trying to help them do their jobs or to hire the woman he was quoting, because honestly, who was he kidding and only a woman would suggest those kinds of things. Minutes later found the Sergeant on the phone asking Jules if she was too busy to come over and help the flooring guys install his hardwood. She said she wasn't.

XxX

Jules couldn't cook. Not really. Anything that was more complicated then opening the box and microwaving kind of threw her for a loop. She wouldn't admit it readily but all it took was one dinner at her house for the men on her team to realize one thing. She could handle a gun, a tazer, a man twice her size in a fight, a large bore rifle... but not a spatula. God... the  
horror. Spike whimpered in the doorway to the kitchen. It was his first foray into the Callaghan house and as the new rookie to Team One he was more then excited to get a peak into the lives of the people he'd be trusting with his from now on. He had expected horror stories from days prior that he wouldn't have understood, he had been expecting remarks on his leet computer skills and maybe a pizza for dinner from the restaurant Jules was lucky enough to be situated a few minutes away from... but this? Nothing had prepared him for this. If his mother was here he could guarantee she would be crying right about now. "What is that?" he had asked mouth hanging open. "Chicken?" was her... was that a question? Because it should have been. "Maybe it just needs some flour." Jules added but paused at the high pitched squeak Spike let out at the thought. "W-why don't you let-t me... help...do this?" Brown eyes met brown and Jules shrugged handing him the cheese grater. "Sure, if you want." In the doorway behind them Ed and Greg turned away, already used to the horror and went off to find Lou, prepared to warn him to pick up a pizza on the way home because their new rookie who was fond of explosions was teaming up with Jules to cook dinner. However, It was maybe a week later that Spike came into the conference room to see a plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the table. Looking around he saw Jules sitting at the far end of the table with Ed and Greg. "Who made these?" he asked pointing down to the seemingly normal looking cookies. Ed opened his mouth to speak but the woman cut him off. "I did, I thought they'd be a nice treat." she looked up at him hopefully. "You want one? Everyone else is full and didn't want one so you can help yourself." she added. Spike swallowed nervously. "Oh, um, thanks Jules but I just finished my own lunch too, otherwise I would have loved to have eaten one. Sorry, Thanks." With that Spike whipped around on one heel and fled the immediate area. Greg turned to Jules who set her paper down with a smirk. "Didn't Shelly make those?" "Yup." she chuckled reaching over to snag one of the baked goods. "But you guys are rubbing off on Spike, getting him to lie to people... to me about my cooking, he doesn't deserve these cookies." As an after thought she reached forward for the plate and sprung to her feet. "On that note, neither do you for saying I was a good cook the first year I met you." When she disappeared Ed and Greg exchanged looks, silently promising never to lie to her again, especially if she took the cookies hostage.

XxX

Spike txt talks. Lou notices this the day after the techie arrived on the team. Phone numbers had been exchanged just like always and for once Lou found his phone going off more then two times a day, two times was customary, one a good morning from his brother and an update text on the day from Ed or Greg, rare occasion it would be Wordy if the others were busy. Now, a constant stream of texts were filling up his inbox, each one with shortened words and abbreviations  
that took the man more time then was probably necessary to decipher them. It wasn't that he was bad at it, he had the normal texting lingo down fine... the problem was Spike. He apparently, had been miffed about the lack of good abbreviations for his technological words and had decided to create his own. 'BC iz ^ & rnnin now FW iz awsum, cum c er b4 u go.' Loosely translated 'Babycakes is up and running now Firewall is awesome, come and see her before you go.' Lou had literally smacked his forehead. Spike had been sitting three chairs away from him at the time. It went on like that for months before the young constable cornered Spike in the locker room. "If you don't learn to spell I'm going to break your phone." he muttered darkly but Spike just grinned in response. Over time Spike kept sending him messages, shortened to the point of being un-readable and Lou kept on telling him to learn to spell. Finally one night, one late, late night Lou had had enough. He had gotten so many texts from the techie about 'BC nds kewl dstrt epic gun!' and '& u cud lrn 1337 spk 4 fnu lmao.' And Lou had snapped. It was 3 a.m. and he was sprawled out on his stomach wanting sleep. He fired off one text to Spikes phone consisting of 'If u dnt stp rtfm, ill kill u, i no wer u r & ur mom wnt blm me.' The messages stopped for a moment before one last one popped onto his screen. Spike had responded with 'Just for the record, I'll be saving that message if you ever decide to comment on my spelling again. :D' Every word spelled out like Lou had previously wanted but now his only thought as he shoved his phone between his mattresses, was "Damnit."

XxX

Wordy blamed Sam. There really wasn't any other explanation. Before the rookie had shown up he'd never experience so much as an inkling of desire for a freaking Twinkie. When the team had teased Sam about his fanatical obsession with them Sam had shrugged claiming he had a resolutely high metabolism. But after watching him down them, day after day, in the meeting room, waiting for Greg or Ed to dole out their assignments for the day, Wordy's resistance to the processed, fatty, sugary, calorie-rich, artery-clogging confections had eroded and, on the way home from work one afternoon he'd caved. Shell had asked him to pick up a carton of milk and, exhausted, standing in the checkout line listening to the old woman in front of him try to haggle over the price of grapes, stomach rumbling, he'd tossed one on the conveyor belt. And, literally, just like that the addiction was born. "What the hell is up with you and Twinkies anyway." He exasperatedly asked, one day, as he and Sam ripped into their respective packages of yellow cake rolls. "I dunno." Sam shrugged in response. "Foods different everywhere you go I guess. Twinkies always taste the same." Wordy considered this for a minute, chewing slowly. "We won't tell the girls about this daily habit, okay? They'd be pissed if they knew they had to eat broccoli for dinner and I was sitting here with Twinkies." Sam just grinned.

…~…

:D Comment, Y/N?


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